Heroes (Just For One Day)

I wake up to see a body standing in front of a mirror.  My body now, I would suppose.  

She is, truly, beautiful.  Her hair is pinned up into a beautiful, auburn bun, strings of loose hair flying out.  She wears a sundress with deep yellow and white stripes, and her face smiles into the mirror, a pure, happy smile.

She is definitely one of the most appealing Maybes I’ve been in a while.

Now, I direct her to the bedside table, because she (me) is in a bedroom.  An apartment, from what I can tell, with the city skyline outside the windows.  She is used to the skyline, I can tell.  It is her home.

She (me) grabs a notepad off a table and reads what it says.

A name.

An age.

And an itinerary.  

Now I commit it to memory because while she faintly knows how this day is supposed to go, I don’t yet.  It’s an easy day.  Go on a bus, arrive at a park, grab lunch at a vendor.

And then I pause.

The itinerary ends at Meet other Maybe.  At first, I think it’s a mistake, some sort of mistake, but the Directors don’t make mistakes.

Even so, Maybes never interact.  

That’s how the Simulations work.

I’d spend more time thinking, thinking about (the glitch?) whatever had gone awry, but I see the clock and know if I don’t hurry then I’ll miss the bus.  So I (I now think of the beautiful girl as myself, because she will be for the next twenty-four hours) walk through the apartment without bothering to look around.  The door is unlocked, which is how most of the Maybes I’ve been leave their homes.  They have nothing to be afraid of in the Simulations.

I find my way to the elevator and make my way to a bustling street.   It’s a city I recognize, one that’s been the inspiration for many Simulations.  Some of the CGPs in these city Simulations tell me that it’s New York City.

I find a bus slowing to a stop on a street corner and run towards it, my sundress flapping around me.  The bus is about to pull away as I hop onto the steps and make my way to a seat.  A CPG walks up to me and introduces itself.

“Hello, I am Annemarie, what’s your name?”  It smiles in a way that’s just stiff enough to know there is no way it is a Maybe.

“It’s Margaret Allen.” The name slips out of my mouth as if it is my own, not the Maybe I’ve been assigned.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Margaret,” it says, nodding, “Don’t miss your stop.”

I take that as my sign to get off the bus and find myself in front of a park, surrounded by wrought iron gates that, rather than opposing, looked welcoming and pleasant.

Of course it’s pleasant.  That’s the whole point of the Simulations.

I walk around and find walls of tall, flower-covered bushes.  It is mostly empty, as were the streets and bus.  I can’t help but brush the edges of my fingers, marveling at the detail.  All Simulations have details, but here each individual speck of pollen sticks out to me, each whistle of a bird sharp and sweet, each gust of wind tingling on my arms.

I was too young to remember life before the Simulations, but this Simulation feels just as real as I would expect the non-Simulation world to be.

Then the wind picks up, so fast it blows my hair out of its bun.  I look up at the sky and laugh.  The sun makes me squint, and I spin around, the sundress once more fanning out around me.   

I stop spinning to see a food vendor cart on the edge of a sidewalk, a bright yellow sign advertising hotdogs almost flying away.  I hurry over to it and greet the vendor - A CGP.  It greets me back and hands me a hotdog covered in mustard and relish.  I walk away, taking a bite and grinning at the rich flavors flooding my mouth.

This Simulation is so detailed.

For a moment I forget about the strange itinerary.  That moment lasts until I see him.  He sits on a bench, one foot up on the wood as he props his elbow on his knee and squints at a piece of paper, biting his lip.  His position suggests that he’s not a CGP, and I wonder if he’s the other Maybe I’m supposed to meet.  

He doesn’t seem to notice me, so I walk over.

“Hello . . .” I say awkwardly, unsure of what else to do.  I’ve never interacted with another Maybe before.

He looks up at me, and his eyes widen as he jumps to his feet.

“Hi - Hey - Hello.”

We stand like this for at least a minute, and then he speaks again.

“You’re the other Maybe, right?” he asks, “I mean, I would assume you are, but -”

“But it’s never happened before so you can’t be sure.” I finish for him.  Another gust of wind blows, and my hair flies into my face.  I wish I had kept the hairband from the bun because it feels near impossible to get all the hair away from my eyes.  

All of a sudden, the mess of auburn is pulled back, and I find him much closer to me than he was before.

“Uh,” he steps back, “Sorry, just looked like you needed help.”

“Yeah, thanks.” I run my fingers through the now tangled knots and look around.  “I’m guessing your itinerary didn’t say much, either.”

He nods, “Just said to come here and meet you.”

We stand awkwardly for another minute until I remember I’m still holding the hotdog.

“I should throw this away,” I say as I head over to a trash can, tossing the hotdog in and quickly returning to where he stands.  “So, I guess we’re supposed to do something, right?”

He nods and his eyebrows scrunch together, clearly indicating that he’s trying to think of something.  “There were a bunch of maps in the car that I was in.  Maybe we’re supposed to use those.”

I shrug, “That’s worth a shot.”

He begins walking in another direction, supposedly towards the car.  I follow him, my mind racing.  The few words that we have exchanged have created the greatest conversation I’ve ever had in the Simulations.  Talking isn’t really real when it’s with CGPs, after all.

“Have you ever met another Maybe?” I ask him, wondering if maybe he knows anything more about this than I do.

“No.  But I haven’t been in the Simulations for long.”

“I’ve been in them for as long as I can remember,” I say, “And I don’t remember meeting any other Maybes.”

We continue walking, away from the bright bushes and towards the empty road.  One lone car is parked on the side, and it’s not so much a car as an old truck.  The now peeling paint is navy blue, and as we approach it, I see the seats are a light chestnut color and have tears in them.  We’re both standing on the passenger side, and he opens the door.  I think he’s going to get in himself, but instead, he gestures at the seat.

“After you,” he says as I climb in, “It’s comfy, isn’t it.”

“Yeah,” I say as I focus on the feeling of the seat.  Soft, cushiony, and comfy.  “This Simulation is so detailed, isn’t it?”

He nods as he makes his way to the driver’s seat.  “It’s like it’s real.”

I frown, “You remember real?”

He nods again as the truck purrs to life.  “Not too well, but I remember how detailed it was.  This is detailed, like real.”  He pulls out a stack of maps from the back seat, and hands one to me.  “See anything that looks important?” he asks, and it only takes a few seconds to find it.

“Right here,” I say, “It’s circled.” And so it was, in bright red ink. 

“I guess that’s our destination, then.” He says, and we begin to drive.  The car ride is silent, up until we are away from the tall buildings of the city and arrive on an empty highway.  It is then that he turns a knob on the dashboard, and sound rises from a small speaker.  It’s a woman’s voice, and she speaks in a weird, light way.  I can only guess that he sees my confused face, and he laughs.

“It’s music, ever heard of it?”

I shake my head, trying to listen to what the woman says.  Something about love and a thing called magic.

“Wow, I can’t believe you haven’t heard music.  It’s amazing.  Like, the best type of art.”

“Art?” I ask, “Like books?”  I love books, but it’s not so easy to find multiple of the same one in different Simulations, especially with itineraries.  It takes away some of the fun, knowing you won’t get to find out how it ends.

“Yeah.  But music, I don’t think there is too much of it.  It repeats a lot in different Simulations, so you can hear the same thing multiple times.”

I squint at the speaker, and smile, “That sounds amazing.”

He laughs and nods, “Yeah, it is. Oh, you have to listen to this song, it’s great!”

So I focus to the lyrics as the highway zooms past us.

I, I will be king

And you, you will be queen

Though nothing will drive them away

We can beat them, just for one day

Different songs come on, and I listen to all of them, making sure to do my best to catch each lyric and let it linger in my mind.  I’m jolted from my focus when the truck stops, and he opens his door and jumps out.  I’m about to open my door when he suddenly opens it for me.

“Thanks,” I say as I step out.

“No problem,” he smiles and looks around.

The sun is already setting, and in front of us is a wide field with giant expanses of grass and clumps of vivid wildflowers.  And only a few yards away rests a red and white checkered blanket and a closed woven basket.  I walk over to it, and he follows.   

“Have you ever had a picnic before?” I turn around to ask him.  He shakes his head.  

I drop onto my knees on the blanket and open the basket.  In it are two glass bottles of Coca-Cola, a tupperware with a green salad, and a bag of chocolate chip cookies.  I pat on the blanket next to me, gesturing for him to come sit as I take out the food.  

“Question,” he says suddenly, “Coke or Pepsi?”

“Pepsi tastes better,” I say as I shovel the salad onto plates, “But Coke tastes more - I don’t know, I guess comfortable?”  He nods in agreement as he grabs his plate.  We eat in silence, and when he speaks again, it’s telling me he’s grabbing a lantern from the truck.  He returns, about to switch it on, but I hold out my hand to stop him.

“Look,” I point to the air around us, “Fireflies.”  

He looks around, and grins wide.  “I haven’t seen these in ages.”

“I’ve seen them a few times recently.  They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”

“The most.”

Suddenly an idea hits me, and I begin to take off my sandals.  He sends me a questioning look as I run out into the grass, barefoot.

“Oh come on!” I exclaim, “Let’s try to catch them!”

It’s perfect.  The air smells crisp, stars glimmer in the ink sky above, and all I can hear is the two of us laughing.

About an hour later, when the fireflies have gone to wherever fireflies go when it gets too late, we lay on our backs on the picnic blanket, watching the stars, asking each other questions.

Like

“What’s your favorite food?”

and

“What did your favorite Simulation look like?”

and

“What type of places do you like to be at?”

and 

“What’s your favorite book?”

At that one I make a face at him.  “Favorite?  I can’t choose a favorite!  That would mean condemning amazing ones.”

He laughs again, a sound so clear I try my best to commit it to memory.  

“No, seriously, I barely even finish reading books.  With the Simulations, it’s hard to find the same one twice.”

The face that was once laughing stops.

“Right. The Simulations.”

“Yeah.”

We’re silent, and it hits me like a brick.

“I - I wish I got to know you better.”  I turn away from him and look at the night around us.  So perfect.  So clear.

“I wish I got to know you too.  It always gets so lonely, you know.  Because you never know the CGPs, and there are no other Maybes.”

I can’t help myself, and turn back to him.

“Yeah.  Yeah, it always does, doesn’t it?”

I find myself resting my head on his shoulder.

“That’s why we’re called Maybes, isn’t it?” He asks, voice so quiet I have to strain my ears to hear him.  “This could be real, maybe.  In another life.”

I nod, “Maybe in another life.”

We stay quiet until I ask the next question.

“Which is better, shows or movies?”

And we lay there, asking questions, counting down the seconds until the next day.  We don’t want it to end.  And maybe somehow, it wouldn’t have to.

Maybe in another life.

Song: Heroes by David Bowie